


The Mentality Of It All

by SpiritWorld



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritWorld/pseuds/SpiritWorld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing could have prepared John for  what he discovered when he stumbled into his own flat three years after Sherlock's death. Nor could anything have prepared him for the delusions that came from his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mentality Of It All

John tightened the grip on his cane as he made his way up to the second floor of the apartment. He scanned the familiar surroundings, his gaze halting to linger on the door that had once lead to his and Sherlock's flat. He inhaled a bit heavier then necessary, as he thought about it all. God it had been years since he had stepped foot into that room. He had moved out some time ago after Sherlock's death. It just didn't seem quite right to stay after that. He couldn't bear to if he tried. Now he only came back every other month to visit Ms. Hudson. The wonderful lady was now oh so alone without her "boys", John respected her enough to put his comfort aside and swing by. 

But on that particular December day something just tugged at his mind. Some sense, some want to open that door. And so before he could change his mind, the army doctor did. Cold hands met an equally cold door knob as he scrambled to get the door open. His breath hitched in his throat and his eyes grew magnificently wide for never in his life would he have been prepared for one very much alive Sherlock Holmes to be seated in the middle of their old empty flat.

The consulting detective stood, eying John from across the room. Those blue familiar eyes of his bore into the back of John's skull and he could practically feel the man deducing him. After all this time he was still the same, still Sherlock. He stepped closer to him, the cane long forgotten at the door.

"John-" He punched him clear across the face, his chest heaving, as his knuckles began to sting. Sherlock stumbled back from the blow nearly stumbling into the wall behind him. He had the nerve to crack the smallest of smiles and say, "I deserved as much."

"Three years..." John managed to croak out as he starred Sherlock down. "Three fucking years! Christ Sherlock do you know how much it hurt me everyday to think about how I would never be able to see you again? Do you know how miserable it was down at the yard? Those idiots couldn't last a week without you. And Ms. Hudson-"

"John, you're rambling." Sherlock interrupted taking a seat on the floor. John's jaw snapped shut eyeing the other as if he were a mad man. "Just have a seat and I'll explain.

"Sherlock-" 

"Have a seat."

He sat himself down shifting around uncomfortably on the cold floor. 

"It was all part of Moriarty's game, his story. It ended with me committing suicide so that I would be seen as a coward and a lier. He had threatened to murder the only people I was close too, so I had to jump. But you see it was all a trick, a marvelous trick! I came out alive and spent the years hunting down the people who were hired to kill you. I have returned because my work is done. I'm sorry John."

Nothing. John found himself at a loss for words at the information that had been thrown at him. He cleared his throat and finally opened his mouth to speak when Sherlock interjected.

"The way your brows are furrowed suggest that you're mulling over the facts that have been introduced to you. You're wondering if Moriarty is still alive. He is not. You wonder how I survived the fall. You can thank Molly for that one. There's a tea stain on your jumper, a couple hours old and from the way it looks I'd say you tripped over something causing you to spill it. You're collar is only half way turned down and your socks don't match so you were in a hurry today. The way the corners of your mouth are creasing now suggests you're irritated with me and I think a congratulations is in order it seems your sister has stopped drinking, you however do it more than usual now."

"Still so bloody brilliant," John breathed not missing the way Sherlock's eyes lit up at the compliment. His stomach knotted as he greedily took in the sight of the other man all matted curls and sharp cheek bones. 

Sherlock stood offering John a hand in assistance. He took it pulling himself up nearly toppling into the other man in the process. Their eyes met and he gulped noticing their close proximity. In a matter of seconds cold chapped lips met his own in a searing desperate kiss. His hands moved to tug at Sherlock's hair as he dragged the consulting detective deeper into the kiss biting at his lower lip as Sherlock's lips moved nervously against his own. He pulled away only to circle his arms around Sherlock's waist pressing his face into his chest breathing in his scent. Sherlock returned the embrace holding John tight against him. John clung to him for dear life wishing he never had to move.

"I've missed you so much,"he muttered against the warmth of Sherlock's clothes.

"John," his name came as a faint whisper from the other man's lips.

"So much."

"John." The whisper grew louder.

"Mm, Sherlock?" 

"JOHN!" His eyes snapped open at the sudden shout of his name. Ms. Hudson stood in front of him with the most confused expression planted upon her face her eyebrows furrowing in worry.

John looked around and saw that he was still in his old flat but no one was there besides he and Ms. Hudson. 

"John dear are you okay? What are you doing in this flat. Let's get you back to mine and we'll get you a nice hot cuppa."

"Where is he?" John practically spat the words at her as he scrambled to his feet. He winced as a sharp pain split through his leg but he held his ground.

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Where is Sherlock? This isn't a game Ms.Hudson, where is he!"

She didn't bother to look at him, instead deciding to direct her gaze at the floor as she answered. "He's dead John. He has been for three years."

"No no no! It was just a trick! He said it was just a trick, he was just here. He was in this fucking flat!" He balled his hands into fists digging his finger nails into his palms until they drew blood. He knew what he saw, he knew what he felt! Sherlock had been here, Sherlock had kissed him! At the thought his hand flew up to feel his lips. They were ice cold, barren, untouched.

"John,"

"I loved him."She nodded.

"I know."

"I have to go," he whispered making his best effort to make it to the door without limping. He dabbed at his eyes before picking up his cane. "Goodbye Ms. Hudson.

She watched him go her mouth tightening into a frown. She looked around the flat truly taking in how lifeless it all really was. The only actual thing that remained was the image Sherlock had shot into the wall on one of his off days. 

"Sherlock," she began somberly, "truly what a mess you've made."


End file.
